


Under the Brush

by Elysandra



Series: Hugs in Cups [16]
Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Aphrodisiac Ink, F/F, Only hinted at anyway, Praxian Customs, Scars, Skin decoration, musings, or something like that, outsider pov, rawr exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 16:31:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysandra/pseuds/Elysandra
Summary: Helen and Kate are to attend a Praxian wedding. But Praxian customs are a bit different than those above ground.





	Under the Brush

_There is no difference under the brush._

 

The old Praxian proverb comes to Teal's mind as she taps her brush against the little ink pot. Strictly speaking, of course, that sentence isn't true. It might be even less so down here than above, from what she's heard recently. She looks over at her partner for a quick check, then sets to work on the intricate stomach pattern. This stomach, for example, is darker than that of the woman lying on the other table. It's much flatter, far more toned than the one she decorated this morning. And it bears no resemblance whatsoever to the amphibian's skin before that one.

 

They have already worked their way up the two women’s arms and down their torsos, working in perfect sync that years of partnership have afforded Leena and herself. By now, the ink is starting to take effect, too. The two women before them have been lying perfectly still so far, but faint blushes begin to dust their skin, the older woman's more so than her own guest's. Darker skin makes hiding blushes far easier. Not that it will last long - sooner or later, the ink's effects will colour this one's skin as well, the tone isn't dark enough by far to avoid that. And while the younger woman may have wanted to avoid it, the look the older one threw her upon entering the room suggests that _she_ at least will draw much enjoyment from the sight.

 

Teal likes the way they look at each other. Not right now, of course. Now they lie with their eyes closed, completely lost to the sensations Teal and Leena evoke with their brushes. But before that, when they entered the ceremonial hut, they kept looking at each other as if sharing with their eyes the beauty they found in the intricately painted hut. They communicated verbally, too, their mouths moving around their smiles. But their shared glances and their emotions were all Leena and she needed to come up with the perfect pattern for them. A strong, very expressive pattern that develops beautifully on their bodies now.

 

Dipping the brush again, she finishes her current line with a perfectly round dot just above the faint line of a scar. It is a relatively new scar, its ragged lines rough still, angry welts that will need time to smoothen them, to wear across them and soften their edges like water across a stone. It probably doesn’t bother the woman very much. She has many scars littered across her body, and from what Teal senses she considers them reminders. It’s a good thing, too. There’s an edge to her emotions still where her scars are concerned that tells of times when she considered them trophies. People who consider scars a trophy tend not to get very old in Teal’s experience. But at some point it has changed, and considering them a reminder of her survival, a reminder of how close death is in her life, always - that is a good thing. It is why Teal’s brush traces the scar’s ragged lines with a delicate line, carefully weaving its roughness into the overall pattern, emphasising and integrating at the same time.

 

Once more she checks with Leena, sharing her satisfaction with how the pattern is developing. They share a look along the women’s bodies, a smile. Both their guests are marked by fighting in a way Teal could never bear on her own or, least of all, Leena’s body. But their whole being is infused with a satisfaction of having helped, of having made a difference - which is probably what makes it bearable to both of them. She watches as Leena works along a multitude of more or less faint, sometimes almost unnoticeable scars. They have to be very, very old, just like the woman wearing them. Some of them have faded so much they are only visible to the inner eye now. And some of those stand out starker than even the most recent ones. Most of all so the shadows of lines on her stomach - it’s a dark, beautiful pattern that Leena weaves, speaking of love, pain, loss, and memory.

 

It is a pattern Teal hopes the younger woman will cherish, even long after the ink has faded. She turns back to her own table, looking at the smile on the young woman’s lips. She has a good body, pleasing to the older woman, strong and yet frail, perfect for cherishing what the older one has to bear. And with their work, Leena and she have made more than sure that this will be a night of cherishing and worshipping for everyone.

 

They are almost done now, and thankfully so. Teal longs to draw her own pattern on Leena’s body, longs to see her own story on her glowing white skin, and to join the ceremonies. She will cherish her partner, and she will cherish watching these two, their _special_ guests everyone has been worrying about in some way or other. They were worried enough to call Leena and herself to perform on them - something they seldom do anymore. They are to make sure the pair is satisfied, looks perfect, feels comfortable, will fit in as much as possible at the marriage ceremony... Worries, worries, worries, more than any marriage should cause. But all is well now, because, as always, in the end it comes down to the one truth her life has taught her.

 

_There is no difference under the brush._


End file.
